The wind howled around the rooftop helipad of Draken Tower. The city below was caught in the iron fist of winter, but above, the helicopter's rotors sliced through the frozen air like a war drum. The machine waited, engine humming, heat shimmered faintly in the subzero air.
Daniel arrived last.
Naomi was already aboard, flanked by two interns and one tired-looking legal counsel with a briefcase full of NDAs. She watched him approach with the kind of precision a general saves for watching a young officer take the reins of a battlefield too comfortably.
Daniel moved with zero hesitation—one gloved hand in his coat pocket, the other flicking a signal to the pilot without ever making eye contact. He ducked into the helicopter like he'd done it a thousand times.
CLAUDE: This vehicle is archaic.
Top airspeed 130 knots. Heat shielding nonexistent. I've simulated six better routes by drone swarm.
"Shut up and enjoy the view," Daniel muttered under his breath.
CLAUDE: I'm incapable of enjoying anything slower than Mach 2.
The helicopter lifted with a growl, slicing over the city skyline. Below, the streets of Chicago were frozen arteries clogged with traffic. Above, the cabin was warm, sealed, and silent.
Naomi turned to him. "You're enjoying this a little too much."
Daniel didn't look at her. "I could get used to the altitude."
"You already have."
They landed at Midway, where a sleek private Gulfstream GIV was already waiting. Claude had booked it under a defunct biomedical logistics firm operating out of Liechtenstein.
The tarmac shimmered under jetwash as Daniel and the team boarded. Inside, the interior was a cathedral of quiet money—cream leather, brushed titanium trim, Cuban rum in crystal decanters.
CLAUDE: The cabin pressurization system is twelve years out of date.
The seats, however, are divine.
Daniel sank into his seat and accepted a glass of still water.
Across from him, the flight attendant leaned down.
"You must be Mr. Haizen," she said, a practiced smile softening her features. "If there's anything you need… and I mean anything… I'd be happy to provide personal service."
She placed a manicured hand on the armrest.
Naomi's head slowly swiveled.
Daniel blinked. "I'm seventeen."
A beat of silence.
The attendant flushed. "My apologies. I—"
"Water's fine," he said, without missing a beat.
Naomi sighed like she'd just swallowed vinegar. "Can we please focus on buying the damn aircraft?"
CLAUDE: The flight attendant's pheromone profile suggests she was being entirely sincere.
Daniel: Claude.
CLAUDE: Just saying. She's ovulating.
Daniel covered his face with one hand. "God, you're awful."
They touched down in Florida at a private airstrip blistering under subtropical heat. The wind smelled of jet fuel and salt.
Palm trees stood stiff against the fence line. A line of hangars stretched into the distance, sun-bleached and humming with distant maintenance crews.
The interns fanned themselves with paperwork. Naomi had already slipped into sunglasses and something approaching apathy. Daniel simply walked forward, coat slung over one shoulder, as if heat were a concept that didn't apply to him.
A hangar door opened with the mechanical sigh of old hydraulics.
Out stepped the seller—Arkady Volkov.
He looked like a man carved from Cold War mythology: shaved head, thick forearms, a leather jacket that hadn't seen the inside of a closet since the Soviet Union collapsed. His voice carried a heavy Slavic accent, each word dragged like a chain over gravel—thick, slow, and polished with years of weaponized charm.
"Mr. Haizen," he said, rolling the r like a blade. "Welcome. You come to buy dreams… or ghosts?"
Daniel didn't smile this time. He looked the man up and down—an aging Soviet specter with too many medals behind his eyes. Claude whispered probabilities into his mind.
This man has brokered missile systems, nerve agents, possibly even fissile material. His record before 1991 is sealed. I would not drink anything he offers.
To Daniel, he wasn't just a seller. He was a door. One that led to deeper, blacker rooms.
"I hear you also sell ghosts that detonate," Daniel said quietly.
The man's smile didn't falter. "Ah… perhaps. But today, just helicopters."